


Imperfect

by IceQueen1



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Canon-Typical Violence, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Dodgy subject matter, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Lucifer whump, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Non-Graphic Violence, Nothing explicit, Rape/Non-con Elements, Trigger Warnings, Whump, chapter 3 is M, pay attention to the tags people, people suck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-01-10 02:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12288942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IceQueen1/pseuds/IceQueen1
Summary: Lucifer had 5 years on Earth before Chloe. What exactly had he been up to? Why was his immediate response to Chloe in the pilot to ask about what the corrupt police force was going to do about it? It takes several episodes (most of the first season) before Lucifer starts to see people as people and not a lumped together unworthy evil that were only good for a distraction. We know Chloe is who started to change his mind, but what made him that way in the first place?AKA5 Times Humanity Sucked and the 1 Time it Didn't





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So. I realize I'm supposed to be working on Damnatio, and like half a dozen other fics, but you know what? I have had the *shittiest* past couple of months. I lost 10 friends in 2 collisions at sea. I had to listen to my 7 year old adopted niece give testimony about her step father's years of abuse that made one of the juror's vomit. I had family members at the concert in Las Vegas who I didn't hear from for two days after the shooting to know if they were okay or not (thankfully, they're fine). I also may be losing my entire progress on Damnatio over on FF.net because a guest reviewer wanted to be a douche nozzle and got bent out of shape when I deleted their review that had nothing to do with the story, and is now trying to get it taken down because I didn't immediately respond from MID FLIGHT to their demands that I rewrite sections of author's notes. 
> 
> Bad. Goddamn. Year. Anyway, my therapy is to have Lucifer take revenge on people that I cannot. BUT HERE'S ANOTHER WARNING! LOOK! RIGHT HERE! This chapter, and this chapter only, will deal with past child abuse. It mentions bruises, and vague flashbacks involving bad breath and hands. LITERALLY, THAT IS IT. However, for people who might have issues with that, do not read this chapter.

It wasn’t that Lucifer didn’t _like_ children. Not fundamentally, anyway. Not the way he didn’t _like_ traffic, or didn’t _like_ having to clean blood off of a Prada jacket, or didn’t _like_ his Father.

Children were just unfortunately, and unbearably, _loud_.

Everything about them was loud. Their actions, their clothes, their voices, their _thoughts_ and their emotions and their desires. He didn’t have to worry about trying to elicit what they truly desired because they were only too happy to shriek it from the rooftops if given half a chance.

They were also tiny, and delicate, and fragile, and so incredibly easy to break, and seemed to have no concept of their own fragile bodies and souls.

Lucifer was pretty good at keeping his strength in check. Even halved after lopping off his wings and his last real connection to his divinity, it didn’t take much of a distraction for him to forget just how much stronger he was than full grown humans. He’d accidentally bruised more than his fair share of bedfellows, but they usually laughed it off or didn’t even notice at the time.

But _children_ …

Children were a distraction at the best of times. Lucifer never chanced an encounter with them if he could avoid it. Especially not in the first years on Earth, when everything was just so _omnipresent_. Part of the reason he started _Lux_ was to have a way to drown out everything outside those walls. Old habits die hard, and the impulse to punish the guilty here as he did in his own kingdom was sometimes too loud to ignore. Like an addict craving a fix – so he found something else to be addicted to.

_Humanity_.

The ones he allowed into the club were all there because they wanted the same thing as he did - a distraction from _existence_. Where everything could be louder, brighter, and more _alive_ than what was beyond those doors. Ones he didn’t have to worry about, ones that when sufficiently distracted by music and booze and willing bodies, were only too happy not to think at all.

Lucifer was quite happy with his ‘no children’ policy in his life.

But sometimes…

Sometimes, he made an exception.

* * *

 

Coffee was one of the most wondrous things ever invented by Man. Music was the first. Coffee was the second. Everything after that was entertaining but easily dismissible.  

However, not all coffee was created equal. Worse, not everyone made it well. It took two and a half years, but Lucifer finally found the best coffee in all of Los Angeles. A small, faded and so out of date it was now back in vintage style diner. The irony of the name ‘Taste of Heaven’ was almost enough to hate it on principle, until he realized it specifically meant its coffee.

It also helped it was one of the few places open 24/7, 365 days a year, which appealed to his impulsive nature and no need for sleep.

He sat in his favorite booth, far at the end of the line against the windows where he could see anyone coming and going, easily get the attention of the kitchen staff, and stretch his legs that were too long to fit under the chipped and cracking laminate table tops without impeding the waitresses.

But perhaps even better than the coffee, divine as it was, was not his favorite part about the diner. Here, he no one knew who he was. Not his name, not his business…Doris the Waitress preferred to call him Mr. Darcy, since apparently that was the only British figure she knew.

At least it wasn’t Margaret Thatcher.

He leaned with his back up against the windows, a copy of _The Five People You Meet in Heaven_ opened in his lap, long legs stretched out the length of the cracked red vinyl seat cushion and his feet hanging into the aisle. He idly twirled his finger over the cooling coffee mug, the spoon obediently following his movement, stirring the creamer and sugar in.

No one paid him any mind. They’d seen weirder things at an all-night diner in the heart of LA than his parlor tricks.

Just as he was finishing the final page, he heard the familiar jingle of the ancient bell above the door. Lucifer glanced up, pausing his stirring to take a sip when he saw who’d entered the diner.

A girl, no more than eight, stood in the doorway. Long, dirty blonde curls that were haphazardly tied back in a ponytail, a face too thin for her age and hollowed cheeks. Her dark eyes were solemn as she took in the diner – fading paint, outdated advertisements on the bulletin, chipped countertops, and the sounds of the kitchen staff invisible beyond the order window.

The little girl inhaled deeply, and Lucifer could see her shoulders rise and fall on the exhale. Those dark eyes closed briefly, and her entire frame relaxed.

“Morning, honey,” Doris greeted from the counter. She leaned over folded arms across the counter top, smiling brilliantly, but even from where he sat, Lucifer could see it was forced. “You want your usual?”

The little girl shook her head slowly, her lank curls obscuring her expression.

“You sure?”

A nod, even slower than the shake, and Doris’s smile slipped.

“How about I make you something, just in case you feel hungry later, huh?”

Lucifer saw her start to shake her head again, but aborted half way. With a very, _very_ small smile, the girl nodded, barely moving her head.

Doris’s smile was back in its full megawatt glory. “Sure thing, sugar. I’ll be right back.”

It seemed odd someone would let a child her age wander about this close to dawn in the city, but Lucifer learned a long time ago that people were baffling.

He went back to reading, easily dismissing the girl and the exchange until he felt the familiar crawling sensation of being watched and slowly lowered the book.

The girl was standing at the edge of the table, regarding him seriously through those dark eyes.

“Can I help you?” Lucifer asked when she remained silent.

Instead of answering, she climbed into the opposite bench, feet swinging freely as she scooted to the middle of the bench and offered a shy smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

He set his book down on the table, swinging his feet down underneath the table as he leaned forwards, considering her with the same level of seriousness that she studied him with.

Unlike most children he encountered, there was nothing loud about her. Less a whirling, swirling cacophony of sound and color, she was little more than a faded shadow, like a candle burned too low to give any light.

He held out his hand, palm up and flat. “May I?”

Without a word and without taking her eyes off of him, the girl carefully placed her hand in his. Not holding it, or trying to grasp, simply palm against palm.

It looked even more fragile against his hand than it had clasped in her own. Thin, knobby joints with paper white skin pulled too tight against fragile bone. Ugly, dark bruises encircling tiny wrists shaped like too large fingers. A nail was torn and ragged. Another half missing.

He slid his hand out from underneath hers, and she pulled hers back into her lap.

“My name is Lucifer Morningstar,” he said. “You are?”

“Hailie.”

“Hailie,” Lucifer repeated, offering a slight nod in greeting. “Do you know what I am?”

She nodded once, the motion decisive and sure. “You’re an angel.”

Children’s perceptiveness was another reason he tried to avoid them. They seemed to recognize there was something not quite human about him, but instead of setting them on edge, it seemed to make them associate him with Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny – something not human, but nothing dangerous.

“Not quite,” Lucifer corrected mildly, but she vehemently shook her head.

“Yes, you _are_ ,” she said defiantly, and that once fading candle flared to momentary life.

Lucifer sighed and fought the urge to roll his eyes skyward towards his Father. _You bastard_.

“I’m afraid I’m not much of one any more. Why do you need an angel so badly, Miss Hailie?”

Hannah didn’t speak, her small lips pressed into a thin line.

Lucifer couldn’t read minds – he wasn’t a Jedi. Not the way that most people thought. Yes, he specialized in eliciting desires, but all angels, no matter how far they’d fallen, were more…empathic for lack of a better word, than mind readers. Emotions, especially strong ones, were easy to pick up. Lucifer was never particularly adept at it since he tried his level best to stay _out_ of the minds of the people who found their way to his domain, but his brothers and sisters were considerably better. Especially Raphael.

Lucifer flinched at the force of Hailie’s nightmares.

The stink of alcohol on whispered threats, sweaty hands that only bruised and late night visits no one was supposed to know about.

Denials of anything wrong when people in badges and uniforms came to visit.

His mug cracked in his grip. “I see,” he managed through gritted teeth. “I’ll take care of it.”

“ _How_?”

Lucifer offered a one shouldered shrug. “I doubt you want to know,” he said honestly.

Doris came by with two large to go containers, and Lucifer could smell pancakes and whipped cream from both of them. “You know, honey, you’re more than welcome to stay here and eat these if you want, at your usual table. Mr. Darcy tends to prefer being alone.”

Hailie frowned at the name, but Lucifer surreptitiously waved her off. _Never mind_ , he mouthed, making a nixing motion with his free hand.

“Quite all right, I assure you,” Lucifer said, smiling brilliantly up at the waitress. “I was just leaving. You keep the young lady here for the next…” he glanced at his watch, “hour or so, and then someone will be by to pick her up.”

Someone _besides_ the incompetent CPS officers Hailie already met.

He was already dialing before he stepped out of the diner.

“How would you like to go on a little hunting trip?” he asked. It would take her less than ten minutes to find out where Hailie came from. That small, this early? She had to walk, and it wouldn’t be far. Lucifer couldn’t harm people.

But _Maze_ most certainly could.

While he wasn’t normally a fan of asking ‘how high’ when his Father said ‘jump’, this was an exception he was willing to make.

Nobody’s love was unconditional. Not even his Father’s.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Thank you for the well wishes and middle fingers offered to the Cosmos. 2) I started rewatching Lucifer from the beginning, and he says a couple off handed things. Like his understanding of love is more than a little dark, or his kneejerk reaction to accuse the police department of being corrupt, etc. So a lot of the story ideas are coming from what prompted those comments. 
> 
> FYI - this chapter prominently features murder/suicide, and the perpetrator's last line is the actual line from a real life version of this that took place at a Texas University this spring.

_Lux_   had a heartbeat of her own. A pulse, a life that seemed as real as any person who crossed her threshold. She was also the first place in his millennia of existing that Lucifer could call home without his smile turning into a mocking sneer.

He’d learned to play the piano here – the all of three and a half minutes for him to learn the keys and what sounds they produced. He _could_ read music, but he chose not to. What was life without a little improvisation? He learned how people, when in a good mood, could hardly refrain from joining in with the lyrics when they knew the song. Or when they _thought_ they knew the song. Drunk piano bar karaoke was actually rather endearing with the Brittneys.

If only they would leave off with the “Living on a Prayer”…

Maze was less amused by their antics. She was even less amused about having to helm the bar when Lucifer was at the piano, but she dealt with it after he gave her permission to hire whoever she wanted to _help_ behind the counter. Patrick made a suitable offering. She didn’t quite get the same thrill as he did, being at the center of their adulation, preferring being feared over wanted.  

It was a new concept for him, seeing love as something positive, shallow as it was here at _Lux_. The love that landed people in his domain was hardly worthy of the definition. It was toxic, possessive and dark, a black oil that clung to people’s souls as they screamed in protest that they had done nothing wrong and didn’t deserve to be there because they’d done it for _love_. Even in his own family, being loved wasn’t always a good thing.

He was fairly positive his Father loved him, once upon a time. At least, that’s what everyone accused him of. Love from your mostly absent Father didn’t mean much when it made the rest of your siblings hate you all the more.

“Hey, Bossman,” Maven greeted, practically bouncing down the stairs to the club floor, jacket in hand and wardrobe change in the bag she carried.

Not even bothering to look up from the piano to the clock, Lucifer knew she was early for her shift tonight. Not even _he_ was that absent minded about time.

“If you need more hours, you only need to ask,” Lucifer pointed out, dragging his fingers up the keys before glancing up at her. “But I think you’re going to get a bit cold if you put your uniform on four _hours_ before the club even opens.”

Uniform was a bit of a stretch. Not that he actively picked what the waitresses wore, but overdressed was not a term typically used to describe them. They were free to wear whatever they liked, but knew what earned them the better tips, and in their defense, the club was hot as hell when the night crowd came in.

Pun intended.

“I know,” the young woman said, flashing him the brilliant white smile that got her hired in the first place. “I’m not going to punch in just yet, just, you know, thought I would come by a little early and see how things were going. You know?”

Actually, it was a little _too_ brilliant. A little too fake and a little too brittle, and the longer Lucifer stared trying to figure out what exactly was off about her the more it wavered.

“What are you _really_ doing here?” he asked, turning to face her.

Maven switched tactics, batting her luminous amber eyes. “What? I can’t come see my favorite boss a little early? Maybe have some fun before the crowd comes in?”

“Right,” Lucifer said amiably, “I know I told you I never lie. Don’t do me the disservice of thinking just because I don’t _tell_ them means I won’t _recognize_ them. So, Miss De LaCroix. Would you like to try again?”

The young woman had the good grace to look sheepish at being called out. “I just…I wanted to come in early. Is that a crime?”

Lucifer sighed. “Is this about Ethan?”

For a moment, Maven looked like she might try to divert again, but she sighed, her shoulders slumping as she practically deflated before his eyes. “Sort of?”

“I thought I told you to tell the police about it,” Lucifer admonished. “I might be a little new around here, but I do know the definition of the term _stalker_.”

“I _did_ tell the police!” Maven protested, gesturing emphatically back towards the door as if they were just outside. “I got a restraining order against him, but that was all I could do! And what’s that, anyways, besides a piece of paper?”

Lucifer was hard pressed to argue with that logic. Human laws were messy and hard to navigate even by the same species that created them. It didn’t help that few abided by them anyway.

“I had to stand in front of a judge and explain _why_ I needed one, and you know what he asked me?” Maven demanded, her voice rising and her gestures more animated as she spoke. “He asked me if I was _leading him on_ , or if I was sending _conflicting signals_ and it wasn’t until I showed him the text messages I showed _you_ that he’d been leaving me that he finally believed me when I said _hell, no, I ain’t playing hard to get_.”

English abandoned her and as she started to rail in Creole, getting angrier as she went and Lucifer let her. Sometimes it was better to let people get it out of their systems than try and interfere.

“They thought I was lead him on to get a damned _green card_ , Boss! I was born in _Louisiana_ , not a foreign country!”

“I’d like to think if you did need something so flimsy as a green card, you would tell me first anyway,” Lucifer interjected. “I know someone who owes me a favor.”

“Not the point, Bossman!” Maven snapped, jabbing a well-manicured finger in his direction. When she saw him grinning in jest, most of her anger dissipated as she couldn’t help the return smirk. “Thanks. But, seriously, he was really mad, and I just…” she offered a halfhearted shrug, gesturing towards the Employees Only door. “Can I just stay here for a while? I won’t clock in or anything, I just want to be where there’s other people. At least until he’s cooled down.”

Lucifer waved her own. “Have at it. If you’re _really_ interested in forgetting your man problems, you know where to find me.”

“You’re the best,” she said, planting a quick and audible kiss on his cheek before darting off behind closed doors.

Lucifer waited until he was sure she was gone before he cast a glance skywards as he raised a toast with his half-finished Johnnie Walker Blue. “See? _Someone_ realizes it.”

He’d no more than placed the empty glass back on the bench beside him, debating what song he wanted to attempt next when he heard the door again.

“Oh, honestly,” he grumbled. “I know _Lux_ attracts people, but this is ridiculous.” He played the melody for _Beat It_ just in case they needed more of a hint _Lux_ wasn’t open yet for foot traffic. “Hours posted on the door, thank you!” he called.

“Where is she?!”

Lucifer dropped his head for a moment before carefully closing the fallboard, fixing a suitably indifferent expression on his face before looking up.

“Who might that be?” he asked.

The man gripped the handrail on the stairs white knuckled, blinking rapidly even in the dim light of the club. Sweat beaded on his forehead, which was no surprise given the long jacket the man worse in spite of the LA spring heat wave. He weaved unsteadily like a sailor on the ocean, footsteps heavy and clumsy.

“Don’t lie to me, you _know_ who!” the man demanded.

“If I did, why would I ask for clarification?” Lucifer asked innocently.

The man’s lip curled in an ugly sneer and he stumbled when he hit the landing, almost falling but managing to stay upright with the help of the chair nearest him. “Don’t fuck with me, man. She _just_ came in here, I _saw_ her. I _know_ she’s here so tell me where she is!”

“Ah.” Lucifer’s smile faded. “You must be Ethan. I’ve heard lots about you, nothing pleasant. I doubt Miss De LaCroix wants to see you, considering your morning in court. Go now, and I won’t make it unpleasant for you.”

“You think a piece of paper means shit to me?” Ethan demanded. “Mave _loves_ me, she’s just being a bitch. You put her up to it, huh? Are you why she suddenly don’t want me ‘round no more?”

Lucifer tried to keep his temper in check. “Credit where credit is due, Ethan. I’m sure your behavior more than mine contributed to her no longer wanting to be associated with you. Now, toddle off.” He made a dismissive shooing motion.

Lucifer heard the click before he saw the gun and didn’t even bother trying to hide his exasperation. “Oh come on. That’s not going to work on me, and you’re going to run out of bullets before I get to you and then you’re going to wish you’d saved one for yourself. You’ve had your fun, but it’s time you learned that when someone says _no_ , they mean _no_.”

The gun remained remarkably steady by comparison to the rest of him. “I said, _where is she_?”

Lucifer stood, humor long gone. Standing next to Ethan, he would’ve been a head taller at least, but down in the well he was forced to look up at the human cockroach. “And I said, _turn around_ _and walk away_.”

Just as he was about to show Ethan exactly _what_ he was messing with, he heard the Employee door swing open and he whirled abruptly to see Maven standing there, caught somewhere between annoyed and afraid as she recognized Ethan.

Then her gaze shifted down, and her mouth formed a small ‘oh’ when she saw the gun.

“Maven,” Lucifer said, trying to keep calm and authoritative as he pointed back towards the exit. “Go back, and call the police.”

He was fast, but he wasn’t _that_ fast. Not anymore. Not without his wings.

“Ethan, what are you doing?” Maven asked, voice shaking even as she tried to be kind. To sound like she was more worried about Ethan than herself. “Ethan, you don’t have a problem with Mr. Morningstar. You don’t need to point that at him.”

“Maven, _do not say another word_ ,” Lucifer growled. “Ethan, you most certainly will have a problem with me if you put that gun on her instead so you best keep it pointed where it is.”

“Mr. Morningstar, _stop_ ,” Maven pleaded. “Don’t get yourself killed because of me.”

For the love of…

“He’s not going to kill me,” Lucifer said, keeping his attention entirely on Ethan. As long as the gun was still focused on him, he didn’t have to worry. Most people, when they discovered one bullet wasn’t going to stop him, kept firing until they ran out. And most people, even stupidly and needlessly brave ones like Maven, ducked when they heard gunfire. Even if Ethan did turn his gun on her after shooting Lucifer, she would be behind the bar, temporarily safe while he…dealt…with Ethan.

Dealt with. Made a trophy of his spine. Same thing.

“We’re supposed to be together, Mave. Baby, it’s you an’ me. We’re _meant_ to be together. You were the only one for me. I _love you_ , Mave,” Ethan protested. “I’m sorry, okay? I was…I was angry, and I was in a bad place, and if you would only just answer your goddamn phone I wouldn’t get so upset! I wouldn’t get so angry! Why gotta drive me crazy like that?”

“Hold on,” Lucifer interrupted. “You’re blaming her for your poor grip on your emotions? That’s hardly fair, is it? Even by the loosest definition of the word, that’s not love, that’s….” he searched for a more eloquent word than _stupidity_ , but before he could Maven was talking again.

“Ethan, just put the gun down, okay?” Maven took a careful step forwards, her hands out placatingly. She was still easily twenty feet away from Ethan and another ten from Lucifer, could still safely duck behind the bar – “Why are you here?”

Ethan wavered, his head cocked slightly to the side as if listening for something. A slow smile crept up his lips, and he sniffed. “You know why I’m here.”

He swung his arm away from Lucifer and fired twice in rapid succession before he jammed the muzzle between his teeth and fired a third and final time, red and bits of gray and white splattering on the wall behind him.

Before his body even hit the floor, Lucifer was moving, skidding to a halt next to Maven.

Blood looked a lot different here than in Hell. Somehow more vibrant, more vivid, more…life like.

It still smelled the same. Could still taste it in the air.

Still warm as it touched his skin.

She was still dying, there was no stopping that, but her soul hadn’t crossed the threshold yet. She was still here instead of there, far beyond his reach where he would never see her again.

“Maven, darling, I need you to know something before you go,” Lucifer said, her hand clutched tightly around his as he brushed a piece of hair out of her face. It wasn’t so much that she was dying that bothered him – humans did that quite a lot, actually.

It was the damnable pointlessness of it. Even knowing there was something After didn’t seem to make much of a difference.

Not this time.

Maybe because she was the first one he _liked_.  

“He’s not going where you’re going. Not ever.”

Maven’s wide amber eyes squeezed shut, her last breath rattling wetly in her collapsing lungs as she sighed in relief. Her hand relaxed on his, the crescent shape of her finger nails still visible on his skin.

He wondered if love was really worth any of it.

When the LAPD showed up almost half an hour later, quoting budget cuts, traffic and a litany of other pathetic excuses for their tardiness, Lucifer declined to comment on how he thought a man with every bone in his body broken and bent at awkward angles could manage to not only shoot a woman but himself, too.

Surely, officer, he didn’t know. He was a club owner, not a detective.  

Yes, Maven had problems with the man before, thus why there was a freshly stamped and signed restraining order in her belongings, dated that morning.

It obviously helped tremendously, didn’t it?

No, officer, he did not expect the clearly deranged man to show up at the club after following the woman he’d just received a court order to stay away from with a firearm, convinced that they were meant to be together – even if that meant in death.

Lucifer was quite proud of remaining civil – even if his teeth were clenched so tightly together it made his jaw ache.

Right up until one of the uniformed officers mentioned that maybe it wouldn’t have happened if she’d just let him down gently, and his compatriot suggested that this was to be expected if you were a tease.

No one would ever really know for sure what happened that day at _Lux_. Why perfectly healthy and sane officers lost their minds, shrieking about the Devil has come to Los Angeles and walks among them. Sudden, simultaneous late onset advanced schizophrenia was the official story. Wild rumors flew, no less impossible than the formal report.

In the end, it really didn’t matter what people believed.

Because what they knew was simple: no one from LAPD set foot in _Lux_ if Lucifer Morningstar was home.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So while rewatching season 1, I started to notice that, with the exception of sex that he initiates, Lucifer is a very non tactile person. When he flirts it's primarily verbal, and when people hug him he reacts the same was as when he does with Trixie - flinches, goes stiff, and looks wholly horrified that someone is touching him. Even when trying to get Chloe to sleep with him in Manly What-nots, he stands far, *far* away from her. So I made a head canon of why that might be and ran with it. 
> 
> SO WARNINGS: this deals with non-con between Lucifer and a nameless female character with Lucifer as the victim. IF YOU HAVE ISSUES WITH THIS SUBJECT, PLEASE DO NOT READ. The subject matter for this entire story is dark (thus the "humanity sucked" part of the description), but this one is probably the worst one that will be written. AGAIN - WARNING. Date rape is the subject for this chapter. You can read the first half, but the trigger warning definitely applies to the second half.

Despite popular opinion in recent mythology, Lucifer hadn’t picked a fight with his Father over free will. He’d wanted it, surely. He wanted to be able to do as he pleased, when he pleased.

Within reason, of course.

He hadn’t asked for permission to run around stabbing people or causing plagues or demanding sacrifice. That would be monstrous. He’d just wanted to be able to do…well, he wasn’t sure exactly what. That was the beauty of it. Unknowing, no cosmic plan laid out for him down to the most excruciating detail for all eternity.

And his Father obliged.

Lucifer was the first to admit to a bit of a learning curve when it came to right and wrong. Humans were so frail, and, quite honestly – flimsy. In his own defense, he didn’t know he wasn’t supposed to interact with them the way he could his siblings. Not initially. But his Father was adamant – no direct interaction in his true form, because humans were _that_ delicate. In their mortal coil, they couldn’t be around True Divinity. But Lucifer was smart. He was creative.

Dad may have said no playing with them (because, Son, they’re not _toys_ ), but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun getting them to test their own limits. How could they _not_ be curious about what lay beyond the Garden walls? How could they _not_ wonder about all that life had to offer? How could they _know_ what was good, and what was bad, and what they didn’t or did like if they didn’t _try_?

If they truly regretted it, all they had to do was apologize – and _mean it_ – and they could go about their merry way in whatever direction they chose? No harm, no foul.

 But oh… _oh,_ was he _wrong_.

Lucifer thought he understood what it meant to have free will. The right and the power to choose one’s path in life. It was thrilling. It was _amazing_.

It never even occurred to him it could be _dangerous_.

Because it never occurred to him to take something as precious as a life, just because he could.

After Cain and Abel, it was like a floodgate opened. Pandora’s Box, some people would call it. Humans _were_ curious. Curious, and _cruel_.

His Father wasn’t as angry as he was expecting. Well, He was, but not quite the way he anticipated. He was upset, but it was…distant. And he wasn’t entirely sure who He was angrier at – him, for his meddling, the humans for their capacity for hate and anger, or his siblings and his mother who so readily latched onto such concepts as greed, jealousy, and violence they saw in his Father’s Creation.

A part of him suspected his Father was angriest at Himself.

Lucifer didn’t argue his exile. If he hadn’t pushed, if he hadn’t tempted, if he hadn’t…well, if he hadn’t done a lot of things, humans wouldn’t need an alternative to the Silver City.

But, if he was really honest with himself, he hadn’t protested because he thought that maybe, one day, his Father would forgive him. That he wouldn’t be made to _stay_. That humans would maybe not need a Hell one day.

After thousands of years watching humans make the same mistakes over and over and over again with no end in sight…

Lucifer got tired of waiting. Humans could punish themselves to their masochistic hearts’ desire. They hardly needed him for that. Someone else could be the king of the oh so auspicious throne in the Pit if they felt it was such an _honor_.

He was done waiting for humans to learn their lesson when he’d certainly learned his.

At least…he _thought_ he had.

* * *

 

Lucifer _ached_. An unfortunate side effect of lopping one’s wings off and severing ties to their divinity was reduced ability to take a beating from one’s siblings.

Amenadiel and Lucifer could always hurt one another. Often did. But now…Lucifer touched the tip of his tongue to his split lip.

Now the marks took longer to fade.

Amenadiel wasn’t his _only_ sibling he came across. One brother or sister was always making errand runs of one sort or another to the Earth. Amenadiel just had more of a reason to pick a fight every time he came down. Or, lately, _up_. Lucifer might have felt bad for him having to take over his former realm except Amenadiel had been such a colossal twat about the whole thing, trying everything from bribery, threats, and just now _forcibly_ trying to drag him back down where he thought he belonged, he didn’t really care about the inconvenience he caused his brother. He could suck it for the rest of eternity for all he cared.

He fished under the bar for his private reserve and a hefty helping of ice. _Lux_ was in full swing but he was hardly in the partying mood, and he’d been around humans long enough now to know that his mood could just as easily become _their_ mood. All he wanted was the bottle and some ice before retreating to the penthouse. 

He took another handful of ice, wrapped it in a monogramed _Lux_ towel and pressed it gently to the side of his rapidly swelling cheek and darkening eye.

Oh, that was _heavenly_ …

“Ouch,” a feminine voice that was most certainly _not_ Maze interrupted his moment of bliss. “What happened to you?”

Lucifer turned to face the voice, not bothering to lower the improvised ice pack. “Brotherly fisticuffs,” he deadpanned.

“I hope you gave as good as you got,” the woman said, running an appraising eye up one side and down the other.

“I assure you, he looks much worse,” Lucifer said, not eager to encourage more conversation. The music’s volume didn’t usually bother him, but that was when he hadn’t been used like a piñata.

“Want me to kiss it better?” she asked, running her tongue along the edge of her teeth.

In all honesty, under most circumstances he wouldn’t have batted an eye before agreeing – and suggesting other places in need of tender loving care – but tonight…

Not tonight.

“Sorry, darling, but I’m afraid I would not be the best company tonight. Rain check?” he asked, offering what he hoped was a winning smile, despite the split in it.

The woman tossed her hair over her shoulder, coyly batting long lashes up at him. “What if I said I was only in town tonight?”

Lucifer fought the knee jerk response of ‘oh well’ because she didn’t deserve that kind of dismissal just because he was in a foul mood. “Then I’d offer a drink,” he said, pulling up an empty glass and pouring a generous helping of the Johnnie Walker and setting the bottle down on the counter, “and bid you happy trails and hope you come back to LA soon.”

The coy smile evaporated. “What?”

“I said, sorry, darling. But really – I am in no mood for company, even lovely as you are, tonight. Good news though,” he said cheerfully, plastering a smile he hoped didn’t look as fake as it felt – “I’m here for the rest of time. If you need frequent flyer miles for a return trip, I’m sure Angela is around here somewhere and would be more than happy to make a deal.”

Her beauty evaporated as fast as her smile, a snarl twisting her features into something ugly. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Quite the opposite, really,” Lucifer quipped before he could stop himself.

“I was promised the night of my life,” she snapped, all pretense of pleasantness gone. “I’ve been hearing about her night with you for the last six _months_ , about the mind blowing ‘night that changed her life’…you’ve screwed pretty much everyone else with two legs and a pulse in Los Angeles county but now, what, you have a _headache_?”

Any thought at being civil was gone now.  

“Even if I didn’t before, I sure as hell do now,” he snapped back. “I’m not a party favor. I don’t care how far you’ve come, or what you hoped you were going to find here, but I do not _owe you_ anything. I certainly don’t owe you _me_.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed, her mouth opening for presumably another verbal spar, but Lucifer’s attention was abruptly diverted elsewhere. Someone had gotten rowdy and Maze was stepping in, though by the looks of it, things might escalate unpleasantly if he didn’t settle it and leave soon.

Putting two fingers to his lips, he blew a loud, shrill whistle that was easily heard above the music. “This is a _night_ club, not a _fight_ club!” he shouted. “Cut it, and drinks are on the house for the rest of the night, what do you say?”

From the resounding cheers and raised glasses – including from the two gentlemen Maze was about to throttle – one would think he’d offered keys to the Silver City.

Satisfied the problem was at least temporarily solved, Lucifer turned back to the woman, whose face was no longer curled into a sneer, but…she was clearly still angry, but there was something else there, too. Something he didn’t care to identify.

“Except for you,” he snapped. “You can leave, and go pound something else.”

Feeling just the slightest bit petty and vindictive, he snatched the previously offered glass out of her hand before downing the remaining contents before turning on his heel and making his way to the elevator, not bothering to see if she left or stood there looking affronted.

 _Humans_ , he thought irritably as the doors closed behind him. _Always thinking they’re **owed** something_.

* * *

 

His head was throbbing. _Everything_ hurt and he didn’t know _why_. He wasn’t even this miserable _during_ the fight with Amenadiel.

The world swum dizzyingly in and out of focus like kaleidoscope of colors. His felt hot and paper thin, skin pulled too tight against his bones like he might tear through it.

His bed, normally soft an inviting felt like it was trying to swallow him whole.

Dim as they were, the light filtering in from the living room to the bedroom pierced through his head like a knife and he twisted against the sheets, whimpering pitifully before he could stop himself when all he managed was to make his headache spike violently through his skull.

The mattress dipped slightly near his hip. There was a shuffle of fabric and then gentle fingers touched his cheek.

Out of reflex, he turned his head away, even though it sent another spike of agony through his head.

“Shh…here.”

There was the sound of liquid in a glass and a moment later, something cool pressed against his lips.

“Drink this. It’ll help.”

The familiar burn of whiskey was not what he was expecting and he tried to spit it back.

No. That’s what he’d been drinking before he…his brain cut off that train of thought and he didn’t bother to chase it down.

Cool glass against his lips again and this time it didn’t pull back, more than he could swallow despite the desert that was his mouth and some spilled down his chin until finally _finally_ it pulled away.

He felt exhausted. He wanted to sleep, if only she would let him. He couldn’t even remember her name and he didn’t want to open his eyes against the light…he wasn’t even sure he could…he tried. One, two, third times the charm but it didn’t help. She was a stranger to him, little more than a shadow against the melting swirl of light behind her.

Weight settled on his chest making it harder to breathe, harder to speak even though his tongue felt like lead in his mouth.

“Drink this. It’ll help.”

 _Liar_.

But he drank it anyway without thoughts beyond why he didn’t want to.

Tactile sensation came and went, like the lips pressed against his with bruising force, forcing them apart while something lapped against his trapped tongue and across his teeth.

“Drink this. It’ll help.”

**_Liar_.**

But it did for fear of drowning if he didn’t.

Sharp taps on his chest and passing realization his shirt was gone. He couldn’t feel enough of his body to know if it was the only thing missing. He struggled to think of why it would matter but his thoughts were playing hard to get.

Sharp, cruel nails dug into his back like knives on the sensitive scars, enough to white out everything else.

“Drink this. It’ll help.”

 ** _Liar_**.

But he did because he didn’t know why he shouldn’t.

He would flinch away from the touch but he cannot even form the thought to move.

“Too bad it had to be like this Lucifer,” it whispered in his ear. “You would’ve liked me, if you’d given me a chance. We’re a lot alike, I think.”

Lucifer felt sick, and he didn't know why. 

“I take what I want, too.”

* * *

 

It was a hard learned lesson. And he learned a few more.

That his mind was more easily bruised than his body.

That men weren’t forced, they got lucky.

That the police’s response to a crime was entirely dependent on their personal feelings towards the victim.

That the response to a ‘no’ was worse than whatever the reason why, and he’d wouldn’t say it again for a very long time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm not dead, but 2017 did give me one final middle finger for goodbye - and about a week ago I slipped (in slow motion - it was kind of funny, actually) and broke my wrist while I was out with the horses. It's a pain in the ass to type, but this was mostly written and just needed some tweaking. 
> 
> This chapter is chronologically first - you'll see at the end Lucifer still has his wings. And the scenario is entirely spurred on by Lucifer's first season reactions to priests/preachers, as seen by the fake one on the street that he tormented, and then again with Father Frank. It seems to be a little...touchy about people preaching what they don't believe. As always, read and review! They help fuel the muse (and keep my spirits up while I try and find a way around this stupid %^&* cast).

LA wasn’t exactly where he expected to arrive. In truth, he hadn’t really expected to live through his jail break at all. After millennia of being stuck in what he equated to his Time Out corner of the universe, with no response from his Father or, really, anyone else, he’d simply left without any real thought at all as to where he wound up.

City of Angels _indeed_.

One of Lucifer’s favorite things about humans was the creation of irony, which, ironically, no one actually seemed to know the meaning of.

Another favorite was sarcasm, though if his brother was to be believed, humans had gotten it from _him_ , not the other way around. Arguably, it was a chicken or the egg debate, and one that he didn’t care too much about. How it started was of a little interest. What _was_ of interest was how it allowed him to be brutally honest, and people thought he was joking.

It’d taken him a few weeks to get used to mannerisms of the living. Well, the _differences_ in people, at any rate. He only ever saw the worst of the worst – it took him longer than he cared to admit to get used to the idea that not _everyone_ was a sociopathic serial killer (which lead to some really awkward conversations). He’d never been permanently stuck in Hell, he’d only been stuck in charge. He could rove topside to interact with people, collect and dole out favors as it suited him, but he always had to return to the Pit. Hell couldn’t run itself (yes, it could), and someone needed to make sure all the twisted and depraved Souls that wound up there got what they deserved.

Or, more importantly, didn’t go wandering off the way _he_ did.

Oh well. He was always pretty good at setting a bad example.

Lucifer had to wonder if the arrival in LA was his Father’s doing, just one more twist of the knife and ‘ha ha’ of ironic victory that His fallen son turned up in a city named for His other children. Even if it was true, he was hard pressed to find a reason to leave. Los Angeles has _everything_ – it had the beach, it had wonderfully shallow people who had as little vested interest in their immortal souls as he did, no one liked attachments, and no one batted an eye at the fact that a man named Lucifer Morningstar, who popped into paperwork existence one morning complete with social security number and driver’s license, promptly bought a club at a crossroad where it became known that he dealt with exchanges and favors as much as monetary currency.

It also helped considerably that the weather was similar, and, much more importantly, the city was a place where he could _recognize_ things. Souls in the Pit were strange – they could stop their torment whenever they felt like they no longer deserved it, but until then, they would try and comfort themselves to keep from truly breaking. They would sing songs. They would quote movies. They would recite famous speeches, recount fictional lives that weren’t their own.

It was _fascinating_.

So naturally the first thing Lucifer did after becoming a real live citizen on paper, he set about discovering all the things humans found so deliciously sinful they would condemn themselves for eternity over them.

Lucifer discovered several things that way. One, that even the supposedly ‘forbidden fruit’ of the modern world got old. More and more often, he would find himself doing things because he knew his Father wouldn’t approve. Knew that his brothers and sisters didn’t appreciate. It was momentary distraction at best, and Lucifer tried to keep as much distraction around him as he possibly could.

But where days used to disappear weeks at a time, they now seemed to drag on for weeks themselves. 

How did people live like this? Was this how it was supposed to happen? ‘See what you’re missing, Son? Nothing at all and back to the Pit you go’? It had barely been a few _years_ and he was becoming so bored it was driving him mental.

And two, that humans had really poor understandings of what exactly it was that condemned one to Hell. He thought the Ten Commandments were a pretty solid rule of thumb – don’t run around stabbing one another, don’t take what isn’t yours, etc…but apparently not. He learned _real_ quick that humans not only had _those_ rules, but a million other ones that made hardly any sense at all. Like zoning laws about not growing a fruit and vegetable garden in a front yard. Out of spite for that one, he had a healthy patch of contraband strawberries on his balcony and a lemon tree in a pot. And for all the inane rules they set about for themselves, it was like they had them just to break them – like crosswalks. Who knew it was an _actual crime_ to cross a street without those stupid little signs telling you when you could or could not walk?

Rules were one thing – but their _reactions_ were what he found interesting and, to be perfectly honest, utterly horrifying.

He watched as someone was cut off in traffic, which happened a lot – it was an overly crowded city with too few roads, too many cars, and a general misunderstanding of the ‘zipper in’ rule of driving, and the driver that had been cut in front of slammed on the gas, rear ended the first car, then jumped out of the vehicle and shot other driver three times with a handgun.

Over _seven feet of space in bumper to bumper traffic_.

Parents threw their children out because of who they loved.

Children killed their parents over Christmas presents.

People killed one another over inconvenience.

_And nothing happened_.

He’d thought his banishment was a little extreme after the first millennia. But he’d assumed that others suffered worse punishments for worse crimes. Yes, they went to Hell where they tortured themselves for the rest of eternity, but…Hell was still around at the time of Sodom and Gomorrah.

Why could _they_ act out such evils without even a vague rumble of thunder?

The darkness in humanity didn’t _bother_ him, exactly. It was that it was _allowed_.

Something he or his siblings had been denied since Creation. _Humans_ were allowed to be _imperfect_.

* * *

Lucifer stood in the middle of the church’s crossing, hands shoved deep into his pockets to keep himself from crossing them defensively.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was even here.

His Father was no more present in this church than he was in any other building, grove of trees or mountain top.

There was no direct line to Heaven or the Silver City that magically existed within these walls and under this roof that enabled God to hear him or anyone else for that matter.

And yet…

“I suppose I should find it reassuring that you talk as much to your favorite toys as you do your supposedly favorite son,” he muttered. He stared at the ridiculously large statue of the Virgin Mary crying over her dying son splayed across her lap.

He and Mary may never have gotten along, but her son was one of his preferred relatives. It was still weird to see him in on cheap scented candles and rubber bracelets.

This still felt stupid.

“One of my employees suggested I come here,” he said, scoffing slightly. “She said it helped to come and talk to you, even if you never talk back.”

The church remained silent.

Lucifer struggled for the words he wanted, the ones he _needed_ besides just flipping his Father the middle finger and swearing violently at an inanimate statue like it was supposed to be Him.

“I don’t understand,” he said. “I _don’t_. These were supposed to be your favorites. And I guess they must be, because how _else_ can they be allowed to do the things they do with no repercussions? _Why_? They don’t blame you, they blame _me_ but I could _never_ do the things they do…to each other, to themselves, to… _anyone_. I didn’t invent murder, and I didn’t _create_ lust, I just…” he trailed off.

“I was curious. Was that really so monstrous? Out of all the sins your beloved humans are capable of…was mine _really_ so terrible?”

Did it really warrant a lifetime banishment from a home he wasn’t sure he ever belonged to?

The church remained silent.

“How is anyone supposed to know what to do?” he demanded. “How is _anyone_ supposed to make you happy? We follow the rules, you say nothing. We break them, you say nothing. When did you go from helicopter parent to hands off? Are you so disappointed in us you can’t even bring yourself to say so? _Why_?”

He didn’t even notice he’d raised his voice. Didn’t realize he’d taken his hands from his pockets as he demanded answers of a statue, clenching them into fists.

“I _know_ you can hear us. I know you can hear _me_. What did I do that was so terrible that five thousand years _alone_ isn’t punishment enough? Am I even _allowed_ here? Is this what you want from me? Or am I digging myself deeper? Does it even matter? Am I _ever_ allowed to go home?”

_Am I ever allowed to talk with You again_?

“What’s the point?” he asked tiredly, throwing his arms up in surrender.

And the church answered.

“I find myself asking that very question,” a man’s voice cut in, so unexpectedly Lucifer physically startled.

“How long have you been standing there?” he demanded, whirling on the newcomer.

The man sighed, shuffling along the last few pews towards the entrance of the church. Considering the man’s age, Lucifer must have really been shouting pretty loud if he heard anything at all from wherever he’d just appeared from. “All I heard was the very emphatic ‘what’s the point’. Being hard of hearing has its advantages, my boy.”

Lucifer felt the familiar tic near his eye whenever someone referred to him as anything remotely resembling familial bond.

He was an orphan, as far as he was concerned.

“You’re not the only one to question God’s plan for them,” the man said, walking stiffly. There was a hitch in his left leg, like the hip joint didn’t properly work. His leg didn’t bend where it ought to, resulting in the damaged limb dragging more than moving. It was painful to watch him attempt to walk, but Lucifer didn’t step forwards to help.

It was clearly an old injury, and the man was used to it. If he wanted help, he would ask.

“I hardly find that surprising,” Lucifer muttered, sending an irritable glare skyward. “Radio silence is hard to interpret. I would consult tea leaves, but loose leaf is remarkably hard to find in LA.”

The priest snorted, smirking beneath his mustache. “Consulting the bag might be just as fruitful.”

Now it was Lucifer’s turn to hide the reluctant smile. “I would think a man of the cloth had his path quite clearly laid out for him.”

The man shrugged, looking beyond Lucifer for a moment to the statue behind him, offering a quick sign of the cross before setting down in one of the hard backed pews. “I serve a God who communicates through incendiary shrubbery. I don’t think anyone gets a ‘How To’ for life’s big plan. So. What brings you here?”

“The truth?” Lucifer asked, risking a slightly more sly grin to the ceiling.

The priest shrugged again. “Well, I can’t offer much insight if you don’t, but if we’re going to get metaphorical, I prefer Tolkien’s works. I know them well enough, I can at least work around that.”

Dammit. Lucifer really didn’t want to like the man, but he was finding it hard not to.

Fine. Let’s see what the Truth got him.

“I came to talk to my Father,” Lucifer said mildly, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “He’s been a little distant over the last several thousand years, and this is sort of a last ditch effort to get a response out of him.”

The priest didn’t bat an eye. “Have a bit of a falling out?”

“Falling out, downfall…” Lucifer waved his hand dismissively. “Semantics. And an understatement.”

The priest nodded thoughtfully, leaning forwards to rest his arms on the back of the pew in front of him. “And you’ve tried talking to him?”

Lucifer gestured towards the church with his free hand. “Thus why I’m here.”

“What was the fight over?”

Lucifer fought the urge to cringe reflexively. “I… _may_ have given a younger relative a push too far. And it backfired rather spectacularly.”

The priest frowned. “You sure about that?”

Lucifer froze. “Yes?”

The priest chuckled, leaning back. “You don’t sound very confident.”

“It…it _has_ to be. Because if it isn’t, then…” Then nothing of the last five thousand years meant a damn thing. How was he supposed to learn his lesson if he didn’t understand what he was being taught?

“If I were to ask you what you wanted to ask your father, right now, what would you say?” the man asked. “If he was right here in front of you, and he had to answer, what would you ask him?”

The immediate curse and middle finger came to mind, but Lucifer considered the question. The all-consuming ‘why’ was a close second, but knowing his Father the way he did, he wasn’t likely to get a straight answer.

“I have memories of us. Me and him,” Lucifer said carefully. “I remember…”

_Love_. _Happiness. Being **wanted**._

“Being a family. And then I don’t.” 

_The feeling of Michael’s fist against his skin. The snap of bones in his wings. The freefall that seemed to last an eternity_. _The endless silence that made his ears ring in the darkness_.

“How come?”

The priest met his eyes, and Lucifer

“You asked what the point is, right?” the Priest asked. “To all of this?”

Lucifer didn’t answer, raising a curious brow.

“Suffering.”

Lucifer stared at him dumbfoundedly for a long moment before giving a slight, incredulous, ‘ha’. “That’s it? That’s…your whole speech. The reason for everything is to be miserable and suffering.”

The priest shrugged. “No one ever said life was sunshine and daisies all the time. That’s what Heaven is for. Life is the test to see if you deserve it.”

“ _What_?”

The man pushed himself to his feet. “The reason why we have trials and tribulations is to see if we rise or fall. God doesn’t put us in harm’s way, or steer us towards temptation,” he said, shuffling closer to him.

_And here comes the ‘But the **Devil** does’_ …

“And neither does the Devil.”

Lucifer felt his own jaw drop in shock. _That_ was never the direction this conversation took, no matter how many times he had it.

“ _We_ are our own worst enemy. We do things we know in our hearts are wrong, and then we try and blame anyone but ourselves. The point of _this_ ,” the man said, waving his hand to encompass the whole of everything, “is to suffer and _still love in spite of it_.”

Lucifer found himself stunned speechless – something that didn’t happen often. Or _at all_. Was it _really_ all about that? That his Father allowed such awful things to happen, to tolerate such evil, because it tested how strong they really were? Is that why his Father hadn’t said anything? _Done_ anything? To see what Lucifer would do if left alone to make his own choices?

_What the Hell kind of lesson was that?_

And immediately as he thought it, he shook his head ruefully. _One his Father would come up with_.

He almost laughed. It was so perfectly, ridiculously simple, and obviously _Him_.

“’A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, you should love each other,’” he muttered. “Way to set an impossible bar, Dad.”

“It’s as good a standard of living as I know of,” the priest said.

“Still that bloody golden ring on the merry-go-round,” Lucifer pointed out. “I mean, you can’t honestly believe that humans are capable of that, do you? They hardly love _themselves_ , never mind _each other_.”

“If Heaven were easy to get into, there would be no Hell.”

Lucifer felt his eye twitch. “ _What did you just say_?”

The priest shrugged. “If it were easy to love one another, everyone would be in Heaven. We wouldn’t need Hell.”

Lucifer scoffed, staring unblinkingly at the man as he warred between emotions, not sure if this was _unabashed rage_ or _are you bloody serious incredulity_. “You’re telling me that the reason why _I_ have to suffer is because _my Father_ can’t be bothered to do His own dirty work? I can’t go home because He needs someone to babysit the Reject Pile of His broken toys?”

The priest raised an eyebrow. “Your father? It’s just a metaphor, son. Just like the rest of it.”

Something about the phrasing made Lucifer stop mid-rant, eyes narrowing. “Come again?”

“You’re taking this a little…literally,” the priest said, looking worried. Like perhaps he thought Lucifer was mad. “It’s a good story. One of the best. But that’s all it is.”

Lucifer laughed outright at that. “Are you bloody serious? You’re a _priest_. Isn’t this quite literally gospel for you? Or is that uniform more a costume? You’re going to stand there and lecture _me_ about God’s plan and you don’t even believe it yourself?”

He stepped closer to the man and he stepped back just as fast.

“ _You’re supposed to be my Father’s Voice_ , _you mewling quim, and yet you treat us like a bed time story?”_ Lucifer snarled. “ _Something to go bump in the night and frighten your sheep back to your flock_?”

“That’s not –” the priest stammered, hitting the back of his knees against the pew and forcing him to sit as Lucifer loomed over him.

“ _Do I look made up to you_?” he growled, allowing his eyes to glow red. “ _Still think I’m a fairy tale_?”

“What the hell are you?”

“ _Interesting choice of words, Padre_ ,” he hissed, slamming both hands on either side of the priest. His Devil face flashed and he felt his wings unfurl behind him – he was always rubbish at keeping them hidden when he was upset. “ _What do you think_?”

The man gave a short shriek of something between horror and surprise. Lucifer was quite thoroughly convinced he would wet himself until he did something completely unexpected.

He threw himself at Lucifer’s feet, hands clawing at his jacket, at his shirt, at anything he could get a hold of, jabbering so fast it took Lucifer a moment to understand what he was saying.

“ _Thank you_ ,” the man gasped, and grabbed Lucifer’s hand, kissing his knuckles before Lucifer could rip it out of his grasp. “ _Thank you, thank you, **thank you**_ **.** Forgive me for doubting you, _please_ , forgive me for forgetting my faith. I am humbled in your presence, oh messenger of God, _forgive me_ –”  

Lucifer jumped back away from the openly weeping man’s grip, slapping at his hands when they wouldn’t let go even as the man stumbled on his crippled leg, kneeling as he was.

“Messenger?” he echoed. Bloody hell, the man thought he was _sent by God to test his faith_? Were the wings _really_ that much more noticeable than his Devil face that the man missed the _fallen_ part of the angel bit?

“ _I am not His emissary!_ ” Lucifer shouted, and his Devil face flashed. “ _I am not an actor to be moved and pushed about in His play_! _I **am my own and no one commands me to do anything**_!”

The man fell forwards onto his hands and knees, still babbling incoherently.

He glared upwards at the ceiling. “So much for civil conversation, _Father_. You want to play games? You think you can still make me do your bidding? _So be it_.”

With a flap of his wings, he was gone.

* * *

 

That night he made Maze cut off his wings, kneeling in the sand on the beach he’d first arrived on because two could play at the symbology game.

_I need no gifts from you._

_I need **nothing** from you. _

**_And I will not be your slave_**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, let me know what you think and drop me a line! You can also find me on Tumblr at @disappearinginq


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